Hollow
by Futago no Seishi
Summary: He has a lover comprised of rickety promises and hollow meanings. Yuki reflects on his tumultuous relationship with his brother. Yaoi, incest, Ayame x Yuki


**Pairing: **Ayame x Yuki  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Genre:** Angst  
**Warnings:** Incest, yaoi  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! or any of the characters, and this piece of fanfiction is for the sole purpose of entertainment.  
**Summary: **Yuki reflects on his tumultuous relationship with his brother.  
**A/N:** Exlporation of the concept of a hate-lust relationship between the two Sohma brothers.

**Hollow**

He has a lover comprised of rickety promises and hollow meanings.

It is a well known fact that Ayame is far from what one would call a dependable human being. Promises hold about as much meaning to him as a penny cast down on the sidewalk. His ideals are too far up in the clouds; his words empty in their import, nothing but lilting syllables that tickle the ear and glide effortlessly across the mind. He speaks of nothing of importance, and if he does have any deeper thoughts and philosophical musings, they are locked away in the vault of his mind where they won't disturb anyone.

When he sets his mind to do something, in the end, it usually remains unaccomplished—because somewhere along the line, he will have been distracted by something of greater importance (in his mind), and abandon his current task in pursuance of the new. In the end, neither will be finished, seeing as the cycle repeats itself viciously, and all that is left behind him is a landmine of unconnected threads, merely floating along in the wind like so many whispered promises.

He is indifferent towards the feelings of others. Perhaps it is not a conscious act, but nonetheless he tramples upon hearts and emotions as if they are stepping stones across the river of his life. They are merely there for convenience, and of course, whatever he has to accomplish is tenfold more important than taking into consideration how his actions might affect others. So in the end, as he travels along in his life, he leaves behind a trail of wounded spirits and distrustful minds.

Some would call him superficial in that he takes unholy pleasure in the material. In his mind, the greatest gratification is the instant, and the more the pleasure the better. He is drawn to all the pretty and expensive things, useless to perfection, and perhaps it is a mirror of his soul. He doesn't seem to care for the deeper significance of things, for it doesn't apply directly to his life. He lives in the now, perpetually stuck in the fast lane, and perhaps he will en up speeding towards a dead end which he isn't expecting.

Sex is something which he takes immense pleasure in. A slut, some would call him, and he would simply smile seductively at them and ask whether they want to verify that accusation for themselves. He uses his body to gain what he wants, manipulating others and using lust as his primary weapon. And it's easy for him to do so, for he oozes pure sex—walking sin on two legs, and each flicker of his lashes and shift of his hips draws his prey deeper and deeper into his trap.

But in spite of all of this, Yuki can't seem to cast him from his life. Rather, he has been drawn in further, and the knowledge haunts him like an old lover.

He hates Ayame; really, he does. He hates him to the point that his blood will boil at the very mention of his name, his teeth reflexively clenching at his presence. His brother disgusts him wholly, for they are incredibly different—two ends of the spectrum, one could say, holding nothing in common.

But just like polar opposites, they seem to strangely attract each other.

He doesn't remember how it happened. It is all a blur in his mind, his memories and recollections blanketed by a nebulous mist that keeps him wondering. It was sudden, wholly unexpected, and perhaps that was half of the appeal. Because, really, it thrilled him—filled him with a rush of sensation and exhilaration, tinted with the spice of disgust. In the back of his mind, he finds it revolting, but for that infinitesimal moment, he simply could not get enough.

Ayame's lips taste of betrayal, a saccharine flavor that smoothes over his tongue and hides the bitterness beneath. With each brush of his lips, he can feel his resistance seep out of him until there is naught left but that insatiable desire which his brother had somehow managed to instill in him. He is dangerous, a lovely spider perched in its web and calling to its prey with a siren's song.

He imagineses that they are somehow melting into each other, and that intimacy both frightens and intrigues him. He finds himself trapped within the other and sometimes he forgets that he isn't supposed to enjoy it.

It is only during those moments of raw desires and forgotten identities that they can coexist. But when the heated flames inside of them are extinguished and the memory of soft touches have been lost from the skin, everything returns to normal—back to the cycle of hatred and disgust.


End file.
